


Unholy Trinity

by Azmodel



Series: Unholy Players [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, M/M, Serial Killers, homicidal John, murders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 09:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1683377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azmodel/pseuds/Azmodel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After letting John and Sherlock know that he is aware they are serial killers, Greg reveals he is one too and wants to join them. The story of how that went.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unholy Trinity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LightDarkPheonix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightDarkPheonix/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Triad](https://archiveofourown.org/works/808982) by [LightDarkPheonix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightDarkPheonix/pseuds/LightDarkPheonix). 



> Hi, here is my first attempt at writing a fic. I hope some will enjoy it.
> 
> This can be seen as a sequel to DarkLightPhoenix's story but I think it can be read as a stand alone.  
> When I read her fic and let her know how I liked it she let me play with her characters. She has been a great help with the writting.
> 
> Please let me know of any typos or other mistakes, English in not my mother tongue and I need to improve still.

** Unholy Trinity **

 

  In the end, sherlock didn't answer right away to the DI : he wanted to assess the man a bit more, make sure it wasn't a trap. After all, the caselist could have been a lure. So he only sent a text saying they were considering it, and would let him know their decision.

  As the latest case of the New Jack the Ripper kill was on the verge of turning into a cold case – pretty much like the previous ones – a black car came to a stop right next to where Lestrade was buying a cup of coffee, quite late into the night. He still had plenty of work to do and the station's coffee wasn't anywhere near caffeinated enough. So when he turned to head back to his office, the sight of the driver holding the door open in invitation caught him off guard. Suspicious, he refused to get in at first, until texts started coming in, assuring him that someone powerful was behind the summoning : getting his phone number wasn’t that easy. Not seeing much other choice and his copper's curiosity aroused he let the minion settle him in.

  After a good half hour drive in very nearly abandoned parts of London, the policeman saw the door open and was directed towards a spot of light. The silver fox might be no Sherlock but he was fairly sure he was in no immediate danger. He still had his gun, had not been forced to cooperate by force, and if the objective was to kill him they wouldn't have been so courteous to him. As he stepped into the light a smooth voice stopped him.

“- Good evening, Detective Inspector Lestrade.

\- Who are you ?

\- An interested party.

\- Interested in what exactly?

\- It has come to my ears that you seem to be facing... difficulties, on your latest murder case.

\- Well, the NSY is using all means to catch the perpetrator.

\- And still you haven't called in your usual outside help yet. I believe it would speed up the proceedings.”

 

  Ah, so either this person staying out of sight wanted to see the murders solved, or the disembodied voice was interested in Sherlock.

 

“- The Yard is perfectly able to catch a murderer without outside help Mr. Interested Party.

\- But this isn't your usual murderer is it, Detective Inspector. I believe the papers are calling this one “the new Jack the Ripper”. Quite dramatic.

\- There is no proof that it is a serial killer. The forensics haven't determined the victims died following the same MO.

\- Oh, but we both know they were. And if memory serves right Sherlock Holmes has a penchant for this type of villains. Unless you think he has something to do with the happenings?

\- Why would you think the man who occasionally consults with the Yard could be a killer?

\- Well, there are certainly enough rumours going about his … peculiar disposition. Some say he is a psychopath.

\- The man certainly does not make any effort in charming anyone, but I don't call him for his social skills. And I vouch for him.

\- Very well. If you are so sure I will let you go back to your duties.”

  Lestrade didn't hear any footsteps leaving but the sound of the car's door opening let him know he was effectively dismissed. As he was driven back to where he was picked up he had all the time to think on that mysterious encounter. Who could that interested party be? And what did they want with his case and the genius? Should he mention it to the residents of 221B baker Street? Probably not, he was still waiting for their answer. He wanted to keep an ace up his sleeve in case the other two decided he was too great a threat and turned him in. As he stood in front of the coffee shop he decided to just head back home. The paperwork wasn't going anywhere. And his cup had long since gotten cold.

  It would take a couple more weeks before he received his answer.

~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~

  After reviewing the case list Lestrade had given them of his supposed kills, Sherlock was certain that the cop was sincere. Plus Mycroft had approved. That had not gone well with the younger brother, tantrums and accusations of interfering were thrown, but things had settled since then. As much as they could between Holmes at least.

  Anyway Mrs Hudson's boys had decided that the first time they would watch the Inspector at work. It would serve both as a test and to get a good idea of his modus operandi. All the reports were disclosing was that a few bodies had turned up with a broken neck, or proofs of bare-handed suffocation, but most were just disappearances. So the man must be quite good at hiding his victims.

  They let Lestrade know that they would be waiting on him.

  It didn't even take a month and a new activity of the policeman's wife to get the invitation they were waiting for.

  The three men met at a pub, where the DI was sipping a beer. He ostensibly let them know that his dear espoused was off to her “pottery lessons” and that he had decided to have a nice evening with friends as a consequence. John and Sherlock understood the message clearly : the man was perfectly aware of his other half's infidelities and that was the anger his extracurricular activities dealt with. When they got out, for once the genius didn't fuss about getting in the copper's car.

  As they parked in a populous neighbourhood they could see their new accomplice put on his concerned and solicitous DI façade. He told them he would be back in a couple of minutes and got in the nearest flats block, it didn't take long for him to come back with an anxious and worried middle aged woman. Gregory introduced them as his assistants and drove them to a much less frequented area. Stopping near a deserted and dark street he politely asked the woman to get out of the car and follow him. The two other men stayed put and watched as ten paces later the silver fox turned on his victim, pushed her violently against the wall and proceeded to strangle her with his bare hands.

  Ten minutes later the body had been put in the boot and was now resting at the bottom of the Thames.

  The older man seemed much more relaxed now, and they all shared a grin. It had been exhilarating, both for those watching and the one sharing his kill. They didn't speak much but when they parted to go back home there was no doubt they would do it again. Even if it would probably take some time for them to get around to it. After all they couldn’t indulge too often, even in a city as large as London, the Yard wasn’t that stupid as to not notice that many murders and disappearing people between the three of them. Ironically, killing all together would make them safer since it would decrease the number of cases related to them.

~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~

  If usually Sherlock was the one triggered into a murderous temper by the sheer idiocy of the people surrounding him, or the insults-resentful whispers-petty jealousy... and in turn triggered John, this time the ex-army surgeon was the one reaching the end of his rope.

  That week had been absolutely horrible. They'd had a private case, a holier-than-thou gentleman, requiring help to deal with a blackmail problem. The arsehole had been looking down on them the whole time ; and if the soldier was used to it because of his perfect disguise of harmlessness, he just couldn't stand to see Sherlock treated that way. It reminded him of that slimy git Sebastian Wilkes and it was more than a bit not good. Though the case was simple they had needed the money that month and the detective accepted to take it even if he rated it a mere 3. It had barely taken a couple hours and the client dropped the money on the table instead of handing it over, as if it was beneath him to do so, not even bothering to thank the man who had gotten him out of his little ‘situation’.

  Then they had been called in by the Yard, only to face Dimmock as well as Lestrade's team in a joint investigation. The denigration comments and disapproving mutters followed the tall curly haired genius, Anderson and Donovan in top form. Scathing retorts had been plentiful. At least the robbery and murder had been a bit interesting.

  But what finished driving the doctor up the wall was his dearest sister, Harry. She had dared text him to meet her, saying it was important, and them arrived almost an hour late. Completely wasted. Again. This time she hadn't even stayed sober for a week and half. And she only wanted to vent at him because Clara had found someone new, and was going to get married again. That, had been her emergency.

  And it had been almost six months since they had watched Greg play. Never before had they stayed that long without expanding their excess frustration.

  Murderous rage barely covered the intensity of what John was feeling. The next unfortunate sod to fall in his hands was not going to be pretty by the time he was finished with them. So in an attempt to keep him in control of his urges long enough to obtain a victim, Sherlock offered to call the DI in again, and convince him to join them in their side-activities after.

  Holding the doctor tightly close to him, Sherlock texted their accomplice.

Lestrade, we need you. SH

  A few seconds later his phone received a positive answer from the cop and the detective sent back a name and an address. He had long since selected their next plaything.

By now John had taken to pacing back and forth, his arms wrapped around his torso to prevent himself from bashing his head against the wall.

“- Please, Sherlock, can we go now?

\- No,” said Sherlock evenly. “I’m sorry, John, but we cannot. Not yet.

\- Why not ?!

\- Lestrade will be bringing our guest, he will be here by sunset. You know we have to wait.”

  Another desperate sound escaped the pacing man's throat, he was so very close to losing control, to kill without a thought for consequences. Anyone walking down their street would do. The urge was running just under his skin, making his blood boil. He needed to cut, tear, ravage, and see the red fluid flow on his nitrile gloves…!

  His flatmate was watching him fight against himself, striding along their living room like a caged lion. He had rarely seen the other man in such a state. Obviously they had waited too long. But it was quite lucky that the DI had such a perfect cover for picking up unsuspecting preys. They were going to gain a lot of time since he would be able to get their guest before dusk and come to Baker Street right away. He had asked for the man to be incapacitated and packed into the trunk.

  When he got the text confirming the acquisition of their target Sherlock sent the ex-army blond to get ready and check they had all they would need. The policeman would be awaiting them in a CCTV blind spot a couple of blocks away. They couldn’t take the risk for them to be seen behaving out of the ordinary with the third serial killer. Even if Big Brother was on their side. The genius refused to owe Mycroft anything more than necessary.

  After an interminable -in John’s opinion- drive they finally reached an abandoned warehouse where they could play at their leisure. After such a long wait it wouldn't do to be hasty.

  They took the man out of the boot and laid him in the center of a vast, but locked, room and waited for him to wake up. The doctor was a very ‘hands on’ type of man and physically subduing his victims gave him a great pleasure. His flatmate certainly found it arousing as Hell. Now the only question was how the yarder would react to it.

  A few moments and the prey started to stir. His executioner had taken to pacing impatiently again, and the two other men were watching from afar. Close enough to clearly see it all, but at the necessary distance to show they wouldn’t interfere. This part was all Captain Watson’s.

  At first the nobody tried to understand what he was doing in this deserted building, with those men he had never seen before. Then he tried to reason with them but got no reaction from the two standing a few meters away and the closest one had a quite demented grin spreading on his face.

"Is he usually like this?" Lestrade asked, curious.

  Sherlock shrugged, distractedly picking at his fingernails while he waited. "Depends on the trigger. But this time there was more than one.” Oh, this was going to be brilliant, gleefully thought the detective.

  When the man realised he wasn’t getting through to his captor, because clearly the blond was the one in charge, he tried to run. Very much not good. For him. Because that was precisely what John had been waiting for to pounce. The prey didn’t go farther than a couple of paces before being tackled to the ground and pinned down.

  The more he fought the more deep cuts appeared on his skin. But none was life-threatening. Oh, no, the doctor knew how to keep his toy conscious for the whole event. The killer let the other go for a moment just to send him back to the ground, on his back this time. But it didn’t mean he was able to land a single blow on the soldier.

  Now lestrade understood why there were never any DNA traces left on “the new Jack the Ripper”’s victims despite the defensive wounds. They never stood a chance against the military trained man. He knew, in some remote part of his mind, that he should find what was happening in front of him repulsive and sick. But he could only admire the mastery of the plain jumper wearing man. And he was starting to feel some stirring in his nether regions at the feral display. He could see that the genius standing next to him was watching his flatmate’s actions with rapture.

  It took close to two hours before the doctor decided to end his prey’s suffering by tearing the femoral artery open. The body had been almost literally cut to ribbons. Only dental records would be able to identify it for sure. John was quite a sight, covered in blood, panting, his pupils blown wide. Delicious. He got up and started walking towards his spectators, shedding his clothes as he went. Mesmerized Lestrade watched Sherlock go to his flatmate and start snogging him passionately. Now he definitely had a problem down south.

  The lovers cleaned themselves, and the doctor put on spare clothes before they burnt the bloodied ones. When the shorter man passed by the Inspector he unceremoniously grabbed him by the nape and kissed him with fervor. The taller one wasted no time in plastering himself against the silver fox's back, possessively grabbing his hips, and whispering in his ear.

“- Why don’t you join us tonight Lestrade? I know the show didn’t leave you unmoved.”

  The copper had tensed under the sudden assault but relaxed when he understood they certainly didn’t mean him any harm. But he was still unsure about intruding on the duo.

“- Say yes, Greg, we want you. Just as much as you want us.”

  John’s input was all it took for his last defenses to crumble and bow to his most basic instincts. Twisting his upper body around the copper enthusiastically kissed the man behind him as his answer.

 As he exited with the other two in tow the DI said casually : “You know, they say Doctors make the scariest villains,” he smiled, “I understand why now and I’d like to say I’m impressed John.”

  They were soon leaving the flesh pile behind and getting in the car. The body wouldn’t be found for a long time down there, in the basement. Sherlock had chosen the location carefully. The rats would be taking care of all organic residues, and if the skeleton was ever found no cause of death would be determined as the doctor had made sure not to leave any traces on the bones.

~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~

  The ride back to 221B was silent, the air in the car tense. But not in a bad way, God no. Far from it. In truth it was brimming with anticipation and sexual tension. Endorphins were still running high from the memories of the blond’s kill, the three serial killers enjoying the satisfaction of their homicidal pulsions. He left his passenger in the same place he had taken them and went to park in front of the flat. His associates would turn up soon and invite him up. He could only imagine how the rest of the night would go, wondering if they would even manage to keep their hands off each other long enough to reach one of the bedrooms. Because John and Sherlock really didn’t look like it, and he couldn’t wait to join them.

  The three of them were perfect : the pick up, the kill and the disposing. Every one of them had the mastery of one of the serial murders aspects. An unholy trinity of wolves in sheep’s clothing.


End file.
